


wish i could stay

by CeruleanShockwave



Series: i'd be lion if i said i didn't love you [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, Langst, M/M, Sort Of, klance, sad shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:28:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeruleanShockwave/pseuds/CeruleanShockwave
Summary: Lance contracts cancer and can't bring himself to tell Keith.





	wish i could stay

“It’s lung cancer,” states Allura, looking down at the table. “And I’m afraid it’s starting to spread. We can do nothing to stop it.”

_I - what?!_

Lance’s entire world begins to spin. His equilibrium tilts, and he feels dizzy. It’s as if the ground is crumbling underneath his feet, and he can do nothing about it.

_Cancer. Cancer. Cancer._

The word reverberates in his mind, bouncing around like 

“How?” he asks helplessly. 

 “Lance, you have to know, I’m so sorry-” Allura looks more than distressed, hands fluttering about in that anxious manner she hasn’t shown since they were children.

_Lung cancer. How fucking ironic._

He can’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “So this is how I’m going to die, huh? Lung cancer. For a damn swimmer who served in the freakin’ army and never smoked a fucking cigarette in his whole damn life.”

His words sound angry, but his tone is dull and flat. When he says it out loud, he doesn’t feel the wave of anxiety and pain he expects to feel. He just feels… cold and uncaring. There’s nothing but a pit of emptiness inside him, the sharp edge of acceptance dulled by the sandpaper wave of shock.

He can’t help but be absolutely terrified by the lack of feeling. It’s like he’s not  _Lance_ anymore. 

Because Lance feels. Lance feels every single damn moment in his life with vigour and joy and hope and passion and anger and sorrow and pain. Lance feels so much it  _hurts_. This shell feels nothing.

Allura’s eyes take on that mother-hen look of worry, and she reaches for his hands. “Lance, I wish I could do something,” she says, eyes brimming with tears.

Lance can’t bring himself to cry. He can’t bring himself to do anything but look his impending death in the eye with an expression of weary defeat. The sharpshooter that could even stare down a huge tank without flinching, armed with just a rifle, is gone. Replaced by a shell of who he used to be.

“Don’t tell Keith. I don’t want him to know. He’ll be broken.” 

His mouth moves on its own. Lance lets it. 

The old Lance, before-Lance, would have made sure he told Keith as soon as he got home. Made sure that Keith was able to grieve properly, that they could worm in time with each other, that Keith was prepared for the death, so it wouldn’t shock him.

Now-Lance doesn’t care. Now-Lance just wants to go in peace, without wanting to put in any effort. 

Now-Lance doesn’t want to see Keith hurting.

Before-Lance can hear his mind screaming at him to  _tell Keith,_ to spare him the shock of his death. But he doesn’t say anything, allowing now-Lance to keep talking, to say all the things before-Lance would never have even thought of saying. 

After all, before-Lance is no longer Lance, so why should he even bother controlling what this husk of him does?

* * *

“So,” Keith asks, sliding his arm around Lance’s waist, “what’d Allura say?”

“Everything’s fine,” Lance lies smoothly. He’s always been a good liar. “It was just a little bout of sickness. I’m totally okay.”

Keith eyes his boyfriend up and down. “Are you sure? You were coughing up blood.”

“It was just a bit of laryngitis. I’m all better. I’ll be okay if I eat like normal, says Allura,” Lance fibs, thanking every God he knows that Keith is completely clueless about medicine or diseases. 

“O… kay,” Keith says, a little dubiously. He holds out his hand. “Can I see the reports? Just so I know that you’re good.” His eyes hold genuine worry, and Lance just wants to kiss it better.

“There aren’t any,” he lies again. They’re in the box under his bed, the one containing his most private things. A letter from his deceased mother, his grandfather’s wedding ring, a scarf that his very first boyfriend Lotor gave him before he cheated on Lance. He hasn’t even let  _Keith_ see what’s in it. The one time Keith asked, Lance lashed out with the full force of the Destroyer (as the rest of his regiment had nicknamed him). He knows Keith won’t look; he has too much respect for Lance’s privacy.

Keith nods, still looking a little troubled. “If you’re so sure. What do you want for lunch?” 

“Uh, anything is fine,” Lance says.

Keith shrugs. “All right, I guess I’m making stir fry, then.”

Lance’s heart aches as he watches Keith walk towards the kitchen, a slight bounce in his step, even humming a song. His shoulders have straightened from the small slump they’ve had for a few months ever since Lance has been sick.

_Stir fry is my favourite._

* * *

“It’s getting worse,” Allura says.

Lance snorts weakly. “I could tell, Captain Obvious.”

Allura looks her friend over and sighs. Lance is pale despite his dark complexion; his cheekbones are prominent and there are barely noticeable bags under his eyes.

“Six months, at the most,” she states, lacing her fingers together. She can’t bear to look Lance in the eye, so she just looks down at her mahogany desk.

“Okay,” Lance sounds surprisingly calm and accepting of his dreadful fate. Allura whips her head up.

There is no feeling in Lance’s eyes. Just a bottomless emptiness.

“Oh, Lance,” she whispers helplessly. 

Lance grins, a shadow of the bright smile he always used to sport. “It’s okay.” he says. 

And to him, it is.

* * *

When Lance gets home, he’s met by Keith standing in the door, arms crossed over his chest.

He’s holding a white file.

Lance’s heart jumps to his throat.

“Cancer,” Keith says, voice trembling. “When were you going to tell me?”

Lance’s lip wobbles. “I - I-”

“I looked in the damn box, because you were looking fucking  _ill_ , Lance. You got so thin, and you kept coughing up blood. I had to find some clue,”

“I - why-”

“Because you didn’t tell me.” Keith’s eyes are bright with angry tears. “You just planned on - on  _dying_ , and leaving me here to lose it completely.”

“Keith, I-”

“ _No_ , Lance,” Keith cuts him off. “I -  _why didn’t you tell me?”_

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Lance says softly. Even to his own ears, it sounds lame.

“Worry,” Keith repeats, tone bitterly sarcastic. “And did it occur to you, genius that you are, that I  _might have gotten over it_  had you told me earlier? Had we  _worked through this,_ together, like we agreed to do all our problems, and made sure we didn’t waste a second of what life you have left?”

Lance, for once, is stunned into silence. He feels tears come into his own eyes.

“Keith - I-” He reaches for his boyfriend, but Keith pulls away. Lance sees the strap of a duffel bag over his shoulder.

Keith steps around Lance and through the door, tossing a set of keys onto the sofa.

“I can’t believe you would hide this from me,” is the last thing he says, voice soft and  _broken_ , as he disappears into the elevator.

Lance crumples against the wall, tears gushing out of his eyes like rivers.

_Keith - Keith -_

And just like that, the most important thing in Lance’s life has left him.

Just like that.

Lance howls, then, all his feelings let out in that anguished scream. He weeps loudly and continuously, without caring that the neighbours will be annoyed. He sobs like a teenage girl whose boyfriend dumped her. He cries and cries and cries, curling into a little ball and falling into a restless sleep by the open doorway.

 _You’ll catch pneumonia_ , warns Hunk’s voice in his head.

Lance shakes it off.

He has fucking  _cancer_. Nothing matters anymore.

* * *

He wakes up to warmth.

There’s a blanket piled over Lance. He’s lying in his bed, surrounded by pillows and his favourite stuffed bear from his boyhood. A note lies next to his head, and Lance turns to read it.

 _Yell for me when you wake up_.

The handwriting is as familiar as day to Lance. He can’t help the happy tears that spring to his eyes.

“I’m up!” he shouts as loudly as he can - which isn’t very loud because, well, he has  _lung cancer._  

Keith comes into the room, wearing a pink apron and a sad smile.

“I thought you left,” Lance says softly, a little out of breath from the shout.

Keith sits down on the bed, brushes Lance’s hair out of his eyes. 

“I’d never leave,” he says, looking into Lance’s eyes with absolute honestly. “I might - I might take off, but I don’t think I could ever leave you.”

He pulls Lance into a hug, and the thinner can’t help but burst into noisy tears, sniffling and rubbing his eyes and shaking like a goddamn leaf. 

“Oh, Keith,” he sobs. “I don’t wanna die,”

Keith rubs Lance’s back gently. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. 

“No it’s not,” Lance cries.

“Maybe it’s not. But I’m here for you, and that - that’s gotta count for something.”

Lance nods into Keith’s shirt. “You always make things better.” he mumbles.

Maybe things won’t be all right. He is going to die, and he’s going to die in pain.

But hey, things could be much worse.

After all, he has Keith. What else could he possibly want?


End file.
